Operation Ladbroke

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Operation Ladbroke was the first major glider operation of the Second World War, and the first ever glider attack by night. The operation took place on the 9th//10th July 1943 as the opening of Operation Husky. Operation Ladbroke’s objective was to land near Syracuse an invasion force of glider infantry of the British 1st Airborne Division to capture the Ponte Grande bridge and occupy the town of Syracuse. 144 gliders carrying 1,730 men took part, departing from airstrips in Tunisia. The gliders used were the American assault glider, the Waco CG-5 (named Hadrian by the RAF), with the addition of eight British Airspeed Horsa gliders. The Wacos were to be towed by 109 Douglas C-47 Skytrain aircraft (the Dakota) and twenty-seven RAF Armstrong Whitworth Albemarles. Seven Halifax bombers and one Albemarle were to tow the large Horsas. The operation, beset by difficulties from the start, resulted in the loss of 326 airborne troops who died when seventy-five gliders were forced to ditch in the sea. i

Arthur Royall, Platoon Commander

Lieutenant Arthur Royall took part in Operation Ladbroke, flying from Departure Airfield D (Goubrine Base) in Waco Glider 92 carrying B Company of the 1st Border Regiment, 1st Airborne Brigade. The following is his account, written in 1996, of the fate of Glider 92 which was released more than 3,000 yards from the coast of Sicily.

All military operations in wartime involve an element of gambling, larger in some operations than others. The choice of Ladbroke as the code name for the task allocated to the glider borne troops of the 1st Air Landing Brigade emphasised the element of the gamble.

The Sunday before the invasion, a large Brigade church parade was held and this was followed by a march past, the Brigadier taking the salute. I well remember singing the hymn ‘Eternal Father, Strong to Save’ with the prophetic line ‘For those in peril on the sea.’ I have never sung that hymn since without being reminded of the disastrous events of July 9th/10th 1943.

Objective

Halifax and Horsa after take-off (Fisher, J.)

Both the 1st Battalion, Border Regiment, in which I was serving as a young platoon commander, and the 2nd South Staffords [2nd South Staffordshire Regiment] were based in tented camps on the outskirts of the Tunisian port of Sousse. We were to fly from local airstrips and to avoid friendly fire from the Allied task-force, were to make a circuitous journey via Malta. This flight course was 450 miles, whereas the first route was 200 miles shorter. This was a night operation of which no glider units had any previous experience.
The plan was that the glider force, having landed on their LZs [landing zones] systematically in lanes (what optimism!), would capture and hold the vital Ponte Grande bridge for the advance of the Eighth Army. The Border Regiment were to pass through the South Staffords and secure the town of Syracuse. We were to occupy key locations and deny the approaches of the town to any enemy reinforcements. I seem to remember that the objective of 12 Platoon, which I commanded, was to secure and occupy the Post Office in the town’s main square.

The gliders

Horsa glider (Driver, R.)

All but a very few of us were to fly in Waco gliders of American construction. This glider, officially named the Hadrian by the British, had a wingspan of 83.6 feet and an overall length of 48 feet. The cockpit and fuselage consisted of a welded tubular metal framework which was fabric covered, and had a floor of plywood. The wings and tailplane were constructed of wood and covered in canvas. It is, I think, true to say that the Waco did not inspire the same confidence as the British constructed Horsa. The Waco was very noisy in flight as the canvas drummed against the steel frame.
The most serious drawback of this glider was that it could only take sixteen men or a few men and a jeep. The Horsa glider to which we were accustomed would take a complete infantry platoon of twenty-eight men and its handcart, or a jeep with a 6-pounder anti-tank gun with its crew. Two Wacos were needed to carry the same load and there could be no guarantee that they would land side by side; in fact, the odds against them doing so were fairly high.

Horsa glider fuselage interior (Driver, R.)

I, like most platoon commanders, was unhappy that my men would be split in two. Whilst I was to fly in Glider 92 with fifteen men, my platoon sergeant, Victor de Muynck, flew in Glider 96 with eight of our men, two regimental policemen and our platoon handcart. In the event, both gliders carrying our platoon crashed in to the sea, six of our men drowned, and it was some weeks before we who survived met up again at our camp near Sousse.

The battalion flew from three airfields; these were, in fact, no more than rudimentary air strips in the desert. At about 1530 hours, we set off in the three-ton trucks which were to take us to the airfields where we arrived at about 1800 hours. Tea was handed out while we waited to emplane. Victor de Muynck is on record as saying that tea was a tinned herring sandwich. It was enough, he said, to make one sick before getting into a glider. I cannot remember the details of what was provided, but I must say that the whole operation had a distinctly fishy flavour.

Ditching

Loading a Jeep into a Waco glider (IWM CNA 1662, via Wikipedia)

The first of 1st Border’s gliders took off at 1905 hours and the last was airborne at 2012 hours. The gliders were towed by C-47 transport planes of the USAF which were unarmed, unarmoured and did not have self sealing petrol tanks. The tug [tow plane] pilots were inexperienced in military operations. The glider pilots were newly trained and had no experience of landing at night. There was a strong wind which had resulted, a few hours after take-off, in orders to increase the height for the release of the gliders. Our pilot was Sergeant Smith of the Glider Pilot Regiment, with Flight Officer Guy Hunter of the US Army flying as co-pilot.
Once we were airborne we had, barring accidents, a five-hour flight ahead of us. None of us, I think, were unduly worried, but we were all going to feel a great deal better when we had completed and hopefully made a safe journey. However, I must confess that I was not particularly happy about the type of landing zone on which we were to descend. As far as I could tell from the information given at our briefing, they were small, strewn with rocks, and bounded by stone walls. The journey was noisy and bumpy. We had, of course, an issue of brown paper bags into which we could be sick, and many of us were – we soon discovered that the bottom seam of the bag gave way after only the minimum of use! During the flight, the wind increased at times to 45mph.
As we approached Sicily, ack-ack fire was to be seen some distance ahead of us and the glider rocked badly. I felt the glider being released and, although I could not see clearly, we were over the sea and there was no sight of land. In what seemed a very short time the call came down from the pilot: ‘Equipment off, prepare for ditching.’ We hit the water with a tremendous thump.

Holding on

Because of their metal framework, Waco gliders sank to wing level very quickly. I must have been momentarily stunned. When I came to, the water was up to my shoulder. I was alone, it was dark, and I still had my equipment on. How to get out? I suddenly remembered that I had a Commando dagger on my belt. I took it out, pushed it through the canvas above my head, cut a large hole, and pushed my head through. My appearance was greeted with: ‘Here he is.’ I was hauled out through the hole, leaving my equipment behind. Later, when very cold, I remembered that my small pack, then well under water, contained a flask of whisky. I also reflected that it was very fortunate that no one was sitting on the canvas roof of the Waco when I stabbed my knife upwards. No sooner had I been extracted from the fuselage, which was completely full of water, Corporal Betts reported that he had lost his glasses; he couldn’t see, and his lifebelt wouldn’t blow up! He was still with us in the morning due to his mates holding on to him whenever he was in danger of being washed away.
The majority of our party remained with the wreckage during the night. The wings and tailpiece floated on or below the surface. We paddled from one portion to the other, changing position when the portion we were on, or holding on to, sank deeper in the water than what was comfortable. There was a heavy swell and it was much colder than I ever imagined the Mediterranean could be. I am sure that we believed that if we could hold on until daylight we would be rescued.
I gave permission for two men to swim for the shore which was clearly some distance away – at least five or six miles was my estimate. I was reluctant to give permission, but I felt that they should have the chance to swim for the shore if they felt they could make it. They did not make the shore, but soon after dawn were picked up by an assault landing craft and taken to its ‘mother ship’.

Rescue

When daylight came, those of us still with the wreckage, including our American glider pilot, could see ships and crafts of all sorts passing by, but they couldn’t or didn’t see us. As we were low in the water this was understandable, but it was frustrating and began to dent our morale. To have survived a night in the sea and then not be rescued was an awful thought. But then it happened: a Greek destroyer spotted us and came gently alongside. As it came close I realised that it was manned by obvious Mediterranean types. My heart sank momentarily – I thought we were about to be captured by the Italian Navy. Then a lone English voice was heard shouting, ‘It’s Ok, they are Greeks, not Ities [Italians]. I’m the only bloody Englishman aboard!’ He was a Royal Navy signaller.
Scrambling nets were lowered and we pulled ourselves aboard. Some of the chaps just couldn’t manage and the Greek sailors dived into the sea and helped them to and up the nets. We were a party of thirteen. Three members of the platoon (‘Dad’ Taylor, Hurley and Corporal Whitton) had been drowned, together with Sergeant Smith our British glider pilot.
The Greek Navy made us comfortable. I had a cut on my left eye which was stitched up by the ship’s MO; then, after a breakfast of bacon and eggs, I slept soundly until noon. I am told that during the morning the destroyer sailed close inshore and shot up some Italian shore batteries, but of this I was completely unaware.
Soon after noon our party was transferred to the empty troopship Reina del Pacifico from which Canadian troops had taken part in a sea-borne assault. I was wearing the clothes in which I had spent the night, now dry but somewhat shrivelled, but no footwear for I had dumped my boots in the sea, and I was unshaven. Lunch was being served and I was shown to the first-class dining room. Having spotted me, the waiter politely enquired, ‘Will you have the lobster, Sir?’ Well, you can imagine what I thought! But, when you come to think about it, what could be more suitable as a starter for lunch after a night in the sea! Other airborne officers and men were aboard and we were taken to Algiers. Another junior officer and myself were allocated a very comfortable cabin, and I acquired a suit of blue silk pyjamas and two silk khaki shirts left behind by a brigadier who was, by then, fighting in Sicily.
The airborne survivors from the ill-fated airborne assault on the island were the only passengers on this large liner. We had a blissful three days aboard. I dried out my sodden Allied Military Government invasion currency and discovered a liking for Horsenecks [an American cocktail] at a modest duty-free rate of less than a shilling apiece. By the time we were landed in Algiers, I had acquired some footwear: carpet slippers.

The fatalities

Of the seventy-two Waco gliders that carried men of the border Regiment on Operation Ladbroke, one landed in Malta, seven in Africa, forty-four in the sea, and only twenty-three in Sicily – and these were widely scattered. Only eleven officers and 191 ORs [other ranks] actually landed in Sicily [figures according to Arthur]. Casualties for the Air Landing Brigade and Glider Pilot Regiment were 605 officers and men, of whom some 300 were drowned without ever getting the opportunity to fight.
Five officers and 134 ORs of the Border Regiment, who had been landed at Algiers, arrived back in Sousse on the 21st July. On the morning of departure from our camp on the Algiers Race Course, I was admitted to the Military General Hospital. The wound over my eye had poisoned and I was diagnosed as having cellulitis. I finally re-joined the battalion and 12 Platoon at the beginning of August. The training of the re-organised battalion had begun as early as the 16th July, and the training instruction included the order: ‘All ranks will be taught to swim.’

Paul Gale, Navigator

Paul Gale was born in Brooklyn, New York, in 1921. He joined the US Air Corps as a navigator on ‘Dakota’ C-47s. Peter Liddle interviewed Paul in 2000. The following extract from his interview focuses on Paul’s first operation: the airborne invasion of Sicily, Operation Ladbroke.

A US Army Air Force Waco CG-4A-WO Glider 1943 (National Museum of the US Air Force, photo
060505-F-1234P-004)

Sicily, July 9th, 1943 was my first combat mission. We were under the umbrella of the British. The Air Corps wasn’t that organized – it wasn’t that well formed when we got over there. We trained with the British Red Devils [1st Airborne Division]. Personally, I only had two training missions with the gliders and then went on the invasion of Sicily. That was the most grievous mission in military history. I had sixty-four combat missions before I finished the war, and that was the one that disturbed me the most.

Troubled

July 9th 1943 was a night mission for which we had not trained. The winds were gale force winds, up to forty-five knots. We had not been given any change of the release co-ordinates. When you went to the briefings they told you where you were going, what routes they expected you to fly and where they expected you to release these gliders: latitude, longitude and altitude. We received no information of a change of these co-ordinates which had to be changed because the co-ordinates that we had were all for five or ten knot winds or calm weather. The gliders were on a 350ft line towed behind us and they had a built-in gliding incidence of about 15 to 1. I am telling you this because I was aware of all of this at the time that we were taking off for the mission. If the winds changed then the co-ordinates had to change.
When we took off we were in a stream of planes. I had precious little navigation to do – just to get in there and follow them until we got to Malta where there was a turning point. Then we would break off in to groups, depending upon which landing zone we were going to. I was troubled by what was going on and I sat down and computed the new co-ordinates. We had no instrumentation other than a magnetic compass. I had a drift meter [an optical device used to improve dead reckoning for navigation] on which you read landmarks and you can tell how the plane is drifting and you can correct its altitude, but you need to be able to see something. When you are flying over the ocean, all you can see are waves and white caps. I could read the drift over the white caps and make it a little line so that you could parallel that like it was a rail road track or a highway; but you can’t do that at night, and we  had no training at night. Without being able to read the winds, I just had to go by feeling – but though they had told us what the winds were when we left, I didn’t know what the winds were along the course. I changed the co-ordinates: I brought them in a little closer and I made them a little higher. I gave that to the pilot and there was some discussion: ‘What do you want me to do?’ he asked. I said, ‘You have got to move up.’ ‘Well, I can’t move up,’ he replied. ‘There are planes over me, there are planes under me, there are planes alongside of me.’ I said, ‘If you move up, they will move up because everybody is flying on everybody else; otherwise, cut it loose here. We might as well drown here if we are going to drown. Do you want to go back and get a boat? Stuff it!’ So, we went up.

No Pathfinders

The Tragic consequences of glider landings in hostile terain ( Driver, R.)

The instructions were to release our glider at, I think, 3,000 yards from the shore. How the devil do you know when you are 3,000 yards from shore at night without any instrumentation? Without any Pathfinders [target marking squadrons] going through and lighting up the area where the gliders were supposed to be? There is no fixed point of reference. You can see the shoreline maybe, but we had never had any practice. I gave them the co-ordinates. I made them change. Then we released the gliders.
When we got back, the anecdotal information we got was that only twelve or thirteen gliders made it to the landing zones, and I kept telling myself for some fifty odd years that they had to be mine. At least one of those had to be mine.
From the perspective of the squad, nothing went wrong. We sent out twelve planes. In the debriefing notes, we got twelve planes back. We didn’t lose a plane; nobody was injured; nobody was killed. It was a completely successful mission and that is what the debriefing notes said. My knowledge was limited to that. It was the next day when we got the knowledge that only twelve gliders landed, and this was just anecdotal information that we heard. I didn’t do any enquiries at the time, I just was satisfied that there were twelve or thirteen gliders that made it in to the landing zone and I had convinced myself that one of those was mine – and maybe some others that were trailing us.

Mutiny

We knew it was a disaster because there was a mutiny of sorts. They wanted to do another mission and the American glider pilots – and there were only a few that were on that mission because there was a shortage of British glider pilots – refused to go. They were threatened with court martial, but the response was: ‘You only have to shoot one of us. They are not going to take down fifteen of us.’ The word was that it [Operation Ladbroke] was just a total disaster. We knew that. The glider pilot’s perspective was entirely different from mine. He was in a much more precarious position; he had very little control. The only control he had was after we released him and all he could do then was go down. He can’t take any evasive action, he can’t do anything to help himself. He is just going down really in a hopeless position and that of course, was what was troubling me all these years.
The mission that we were scheduled for on July 11th was aborted [Operation Glutton, to be undertaken by Brigadier E. E. Down’s 2nd Parachute Brigade].ii  That made quite an impression on me because the troops – these were all British boys now – were in the planes when the word came that we were not going to take off, and I remember these chaps breaking down. Some of them just broke down in tears, and that made a very lasting impression. I went back to my tent and it occurred to me that we were getting chocolate chip cookies from home, we would get lovely letters, and these guys were getting letters telling them that their brothers and sisters and families were injured or killed and their homes destroyed. It was a different war for them.

Royall, A. ref LEEW2001.1238; Gale, P. ref LEEW2001.882
i Number landing in the sea: www.operation-ladbroke.com ; number of casualties through drowning: www.pegasusarchive.org. Figures vary according to different sources.
ii The cancelling of Operation Glutton was fortuitous. The drop zone was later found to consist of rocks and gorges. Renamed Operation Fustian, the mission took place on the night of 12th /13th July 1943. 19 gliders took part to support paratroopers in the capture of Primosole Bridge. Of the 19, only 4 made land.